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As you scan our 25 best rock albums of the '00s, you'll quickly notice that a lot of these artists could be claimed by other genres: Susan Tedeschi by blues, Drive-By Truckers by alt-country, Wilco by indie. And that's the thing about rock in this young century: it's less a definable genre and more of a fractured aesthetic scattered across numerous genres. But make no mistake -- had Back to the River or Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or Southern Rock Opera come out in the 1970s, they would've been considered nothing but rock.

Because of rock's current state of affairs, readers are going to stumble across new flavors. Fans of Jack Johnson are going to read about High on Fire's Matt Pike, while followers of Nickelback will get to learn about something called Creepjoint. So yeah, keep an open mind and instead of bemoaning what rock has become in the 21st century, embrace it. There are a lot of killer jams to be found here.

I've been seeing Hall & Oates references all over the place during the past few years. At the start of the decade, their soft-rocking 1970s period came back into vogue, and now, at the end of the decade, it's their synth-y 1980s hits (and videos) that have made a big comeback. These days practically every indie rocker around (including Josh Rouse and Ben Gibbard of Death Cab) cite the duo as a major influence.

As a child of the 1970s and '80s, I can say that Daryl Hall and John Oates ruled the airwaves during both decades. I can't remember a time when their '70s hits like "She's Gone" and "Rich Girl" weren't omnipresent. Later, at the start of the 1980s, when Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" first came out, I kept thinking it was the Hall & Oates tune "I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)" starting up (Jackson and Quincy Jones lifted the song's kick-ass bassline intro and tempo and fit it into their song to give it extra juice).

Hall and Oates are still recording and touring, but they wisely spend a lot of time on their own projects (Hall seems to be the more driven of the two). The duo have now released a surprisingly rich box set, Do What You Want, Be What You Are, which offers a complete portrait of their career.

I interviewed Daryl Hall the other day about the box set, his Philly soul roots and his truly entertaining internet TV show, Live From Daryl's House. Hall gave thoughtful, B.S.-free answers and took it in stride that a fleet of work trucks pulled up right outside the Rhapsody offices and jackhammered the city streets to dust for the duration of our conversation. Click here to read the interview and to play a selection of music from the most successful duo in pop history.

Dickie Peterson (that awesome-looking dude in the center here (and yes, the guy on the left looks pretty awesome, too)), who succumbed to liver cancer on October 12, 2009, was the original bass player and vocalist of incalculably influential San Francisco superblues power trio Blue Cheer. In the late '60s, Peterson, Leigh Stephens (guitar) and first drummer Eric Albronda represented about the most extreme rock music around, as far as double-tracked guitar freakouts, dog-exploding volumes and all-out heaviness were concerned. The overfuzz of his bass and long haired yahoo screaming on hit single "Summertime Blues" simply defined acid rock, not to mention the rest of Blue Cheer's skull-rattling 1968 debut, Vincebus Eruptum (they're all good but do not miss last song "Second Time Around"). Released that same year, follow-up Outsideinside was murky and deliberate -- a menacing flipside to the sunny hippie rock of the times. Even today you can hear unmistakable traces of Outsideinside's trudging riffology in basically all the music that came out of Seattle in the early '90s, and all over the sludgemetal of modern day New Orleans. From here, Blue Cheer's history becomes convoluted as guitarists and drummers come and go, with long hiatuses throughout the '70s and '80s. Recently, however, Peterson had successfully reformed the band and recorded What Doesn't Kill You in 2007.

New albums from Alice in Chains and Pearl Jam have me daydreaming about the days when grunge stormed America and wrapped just about every high school between Seattle and Syracuse in red-and-black checked flannel. Those were heady days for me and my alternative pals Jay, Kerry, Jared and Ted. In the summer before senior year, we’d sit around Ted’s house (his parents were never home) and impatiently wait for MTV to play the “Alive” video or maybe even Temple of the Dog's "Hunger Strike." Feeling intensely nostalgic, I’ve been spinning the popular classics of grunge over the last week or so. Some of these sound really great, others kind of dated and a few haven’t changed at all. I figure I'd share my discoveries … in the form of a stock report.

Lead singers tend to be prima donnas who snag all the front-row babes and front-page accolades. Unfortunately, replacing these ego freaks is almost always an exercise in failure. Though the dude might've skipped a rehearsal or three, he’s the vessel through which all those killer songs are delivered to the masses. The medium is the message and to lose the medium means nose-diving right back into club circuit hell, where green rooms are nothing more than a gutted bathroom plastered in hand-scrawled personals: For a good time call ...

Musicians know all this, and yet there are always going to be successful bands who believe they can succeed with a newbie frontman. Can you blame them? If you were Eddie Van Halen, wouldn’t you feel a powerful urge to stick it to that blowhard D.L.R.? I know I would. Of course, Van Halen are one of the rare exceptions to the rule. Say what you will about Van Hagar and lame-o hits like “Right Now,” but they sold a ton of records. Roth’s popularity, meanwhile, declined with each passing year he wasn’t swinging from the rafters 40 feet above Michael Anthony and his Jack Daniels bass.

But what of the other titans of rock who dared switch frontmen? How did they fare? Let's find out ...

There's a lot of uncertainty out in the world today. Who knows exactly what is going to happen or when it's going to happen or who exactly it's going to happen to?

One thing's for sure, though. If Johnny Cash has recommended a list of essential songs, you sit down, you shut up and you start listening to those songs.

Back in 1973, the Man In Black gave his daughter, Rosanne Cash, a list of 100 songs that he thought she needed to know. Being a smart cookie, Rosanne listened to those songs and studied them over the years.


Now, Rosanne, a fine singer-songwriter in her own right, has whittled that list down to 12 songs and put out what is easily one of the best albums of 2009 -- The List. In her Rhapsody review, Linda Ryan, our country editor, writes, "It's difficult not to fall hard for the Springsteen-featured 'Sea of Heartbreak,' the gentle honky-tonk of 'Miss the Mississippi and You' and the Elvis Costello duet 'Heartaches by the Numbers.'"

One of the great things about Rhapsody is the depth of our catalog -- over 8 million songs strong -- that allows you to not only listen to the latest music, but also virtually any music from every period. Once you sign up for Rhapsody, it is at your fingertips.

And while you should definitely check out Rosanne's album, I went ahead and searched out 12 earlier versions of the songs on Rhapsody. These are tough, timeless songs with a sentimental streak, full of heartbreak, humor and resilience. The list includes rough, raw recordings as well as more polished, radio-ready hits of the past.

Listen in, take notes and either get reacquainted with some old friends or make some new ones. Johnny Cash was right: these are songs that you'll need at some point in your life. Rosanne Cash does the songs -- and her father -- proud.

The last couple weeks saw the release of two new albums that will be a HUGE deal in Europe -- and will probably hardly make a ripple in the United States. The Boy Who Knew Too Much and La Roux are the efforts of, respectively, a major European pop star (Mika) and a seriously buzzed-about British dance-pop outfit (La Roux) who, in the U.S., are simply indie acts with something of a cult following. So what makes a band "big" in Europe, but not here? We set out to examine the subtle nuances that sometimes distinguish the delicate continental palate from our more, well, palatable American tastes. What we came up with was not one answer, but a series of reasons/differences/aesthetic problems.

With the release of Paramore's new album, Twilight's Kristen Stewart rocking her best Joan Jett for an upcoming bio-pic and Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O leading an all-star cast of indie rockers on the Where the Wild Things Are soundtrack, it's really not a bad time to be a chick in a rock band. But of course, all chicks fronting rock bands face the age-old question at some point: To go solo or not to go solo? It's a question Paramore's Hayley Williams had to quash when rumors swirled this summer over a possible solo move when she contributed a track to the Jennifer's Body soundtrack. She's stayed adamant that Paramore is going nowhere, but this got us thinking -- as tempting as it is to reach for the brass ring, is going solo always a good idea? We lined up a few examples Ms. Williams might want to consider for future reference. (And please to be remembering: if you dig Paramore, solo projects, Wild Things, or all of the above, then get on the jet with a Rhapsody subscription -- try it for free right here, right now.) 

Southern rock often gets a bad rap among folks whose "learnin' shed" isn't a car on blocks in the front yard. This is largely due to the fact that classic rock radio tends to play only the most hillbilliest of Skynyrd songs ("Sweet Home Alabama," "Gimme Three Steps"), and it's just impossible for a normal person to see the unfortunate choice of a Confederate flag as part of a band's aesthetic and not feel weird.

But there's more to Southern rock than the endless boogie of Molly Hatchet. The music has its roots in ancient blues, deep soul and even the earliest rock 'n' roll music (see Elvis' Sun Sessions). For one thing, two of the genre's main progenitors, Greg and Duane Allman, basically grew up in Muscle Shoals studio, playing with Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Clarence Carter and others. And Southern rock itself has evolved over the years and remains vital today.

The genre can easily be broken down to three eras, and what we've done here is offer a little primer on Southern rock with the major players of each of its periods in playlist form. This is not the last word on Southern rock, so if you have "Whiskey Rock-A-Roller" tattooed on your forehead, don't flip out that there's no Wet Willie. This here is meant to be a starter kit for newcomers and some good songs for the acolytes.

Be sure to listen to all the artist mentioned here with your Rhapsody subscription and listen to all all of your favorite high quality audio with your free trial Rhapsody membership.

The era of the celebrity DJ is on the wane. These days, the real big-tent tastemakers are music supervisors: the behind-the-scenes types with the knack for administering just the right dose of Snow Patrol at the tear-jerking climax of a Grey's Anatomy episode. And no one does that better than Alex Patsavas, whose keen ears and bursting Rolodex have put their sonic stamp on Grey's Anatomy, The O.C., Gossip Girl, and a little yarn about vampires called Twilight, whose soundtrack went on to sell 2.2 million copies.

The H1N1 Influenza virus -- popularly known, to the chagrin of the Other White Meat industry, as "swine flu" -- keeps spreading. And with some estimates claiming that it could affect as many as two to three billion people, it's only natural that celebrities will be stricken, along with the rest of us schlubs. (I'm not a doctor, but I play one on this blog.) From the cases reported so far, it looks like swine flu is not immune to irony. CNN's chief medical correspondent Dr. Sanjay Gupta got it. Epidemiologist and Huffington Post medical blogger Larry Brilliant, M.D. got it -- just days after agreeing to write an article on the disease, at that. (In addition to all its other evil powers, swine flu also apparently rifles through your email. Maybe they should call it crazy ex-girlfriend flu?) And now, it turns out, Marilyn Manson has gotten it too.

Ask much of the civilized world to name an album sequel with "blue" in its title, and the first thing out of their mouth is going to be Jay-Z’s The Blueprint 3. Ask the Classic Rock Crate Digger, however, and it’s going to be John Fogerty's The Blue Ridge Rangers Rides Again, a new collection of vintage country and roots-rock covers that rivals Jigga’s new joint when it comes to pushing product based on the number of high-profile cameos. Check it: there’s the Boss; drummer extraordinaire and Mellencamp cohort Kenny Aronoff; media mogul/producer Lenny Waronker; Eagles Don Henley and Timothy B. Schmit; Americana heavyweight Buddy Miller; and Herb "I've Played with Just About Every Major Country Rocker and Bluegrass Heavyweight of the Last Four Decades" Pedersen.*

From left: Mike Mogis, M. Ward, Jim James, Conor Oberst

The concept of the supergroup is older than fishing -- literally! Jesus and his Disciples were certainly a supergroup, and we're pretty sure Jesus invented fishing. Yes, bands of preternaturally talented brothers (and sisters) have been joining forces for millennia. With this week's debut from Monsters of Folk -- a supergroup comprised of Mike Mogis, M. Ward, My Morning Jacket's Jim James and Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst -- we thought we'd reflect upon some of our favorite supergroups of years past. Was the whole greater than the sum of the parts? Read on to find out, and don't forget: if you dig supergroups, regular groups or anything in between, Rhapsody has you covered. Take a free spin to see what unlimited, unfettered music access tastes like (surprisingly unlike chicken, we think you'll be pleased to discover).

I’m no Perez Hilton, or even a young Joan Rivers for that matter, but I think I’ve spotted a pop trend -- albeit a minor one. It dawned on me when I recently stumbled across the video for Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat's “Lucky.” (Nine months behind schedule, I know.) It was the same day I read about Break Up, the new album from Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson. I'm talking about this whole he/she retro-pop duo thingy. I’m calling it a trend because I can name four additional examples. There’s She & Him (M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel); Wilco and Feist; Mark Lanegan and Isobel Campbell; and Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs. Without sounding too reductive, all these acts are variations on a theme: take a little Lee and Nancy and some Serge and Brigitte and filter them through a modern alt-pop sensibility (with a dash of Americana thrown in for good measure, of course).

First off, welcome to the first installment of my new column, Classic Rock Crate Digger. Like the dashboard of a vintage Saab, my mission statement is simple and to the point: dive into Rhapsody’s insanely bottomless catalog and explore all the nooks and crannies of that hairy, sweaty behemoth known as classic rock. You see, I love rock 'n' roll from the 1970s, but I’m so sick and tired of the same 40 songs my local DJ has been regurgitating for the last 35 years. Call me crazy, but there’s way more to classic rock than “Free Bird,” “More Than a Feeling” and “The Joker.” For example, just about anybody who worships riff-a-rific hard rock has cranked a little Free, those skinny, blues-rock Brits who sculpted one of the most titanic grooves ever know to man: “All Right Now.” Yet how many out there have dug into sprawling discography of The Groundhogs, who -- in my humble opinion, at least -- rock as hard as Free and Mountain and Grand Funk Railroad COMBINED? Unfortunately, the Groundhogs never scored a hit here in the States, so they're relatively unknown outside select circles. But just about any longhair between the ages of 18 and 65, regardless of his/her classic rock IQ, would absolutely flip for the band’s 1971 magnum opus, Thank Christ for the Bomb.

Basically, I want to help expand the horizons of the average classic rock fan by offering him or her sounds that feel familiar yet new. I want to take Zep fanatics and turn them on to Terry Reid (or maybe even the second Cactus record). I want to explain to Floyd freaks why I dig Obscured by Clouds more than its successor, Dark Side of the Moon.

And you know what? Rhapsody is just perfect for this kind of exploration. Sure, I sound like a corporate shill, but think about it: our service allows all of us to transcend the tyranny of America's classic rock DJs. No longer will we be beholden to their limited and antiquated playlists. We can roam as freely as we want.

Now time for the twin lead...